


Transfigurations

by inkvoices



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Gen, Slytherins are people too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/pseuds/inkvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts reopens in September as usual, but it hasn't yet been fully repaired following the battle in May. The lower levels are flooded, so the Ministry helpfully arranges alternative accommodation for Slytherin students - in Azkaban. As the 'temporary' solution starts to become a more permanent one the Slytherins and their new Head of House try fighting back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transfigurations and Head of House

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal in January 2008 in response to the omniocular [Totally Not Badfic challenge](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/178031.html), for the prompt _95\. The Ministry tries to eliminate evil by sending all Slytherins to Azkaban for life immediately after sorting._ Thanks to LilyAyl for beta reading.

"I must admit I'm...surprised by your application for this position, Miss Parkinson. If I may be frank, you showed little aptitude for Transfigurations in class."

Pansy wondered if frowning was Professor McGonagall's default expression or if the stress of trying to keep her promise of accepting students to Hogwarts on the first of September as usual, despite the fact that the school still resembled a battle site, was beginning to show on the new Headmistress.

" _Frankly_ , being a Pureblood female I was advised that it was prudent to show little aptitude for subjects traditionally considered to be the dominion of men."

"By who?" Professor Sprout, seated to one side in a squashy green armchair, added her frown to that of the Headmistress.

"My mother." She folded her hands in her lap, determined not to fidget. "If you require further references than those I provided with my application there are a few select members of my House that I can owl. I made an excellent tutor."

Pansy had read that maintaining eye contact encouraged prospective employers to become actual employers, so she tried to keep her eyes on the Headmistress. They flickered over to Sprout when the witch spoke and had wandered a little early on in the interview as she took in the few changes to the office made by its new occupant – which thankfully included only a limited amount of tartan – but other than that she thought she wasn’t fairing too badly.

"Your references weren't that extensive, no, but then you _have_ only just left school," said McGonagall.

"I attended the NEWT exams that the Ministry organised in July. I passed."

"It's a question of having little teaching experience," Sprout put in, not unkindly.

McGonagall inspected her over the top of her square-framed glasses. "Little teaching experience in addition to your little... outburst, shall we say, towards the end of the last school year."

"I wasn't – I mean, it didn't..." Pansy wet her lips and focused on the Headmistress' left ear. "I didn't fight on either side during the altercation in May. I _left_ , along with the _vast majority_ of the student population."

"Indeed." The Headmistress’ lips didn’t seem to be getting any thinner, which was a good sign. She had never failed to display her displeasure that way in the classroom.

"I was under the impression that Hogwarts doesn't usually advertise for teaching staff in the Daily Prophet, suggesting that you haven't had many applicants, if any, and I understand that following Professor Slughorn's return to retirement you have no Slytherins on staff and therefore have a Head of House position that needs to be filled."

"Are you suggesting yourself as a Head of House as well?" McGonagall's eyebrows crept towards her hairline.

"Have you had any other Slytherin applicants to fill...vacated positions?"

"Professors not previously affiliated with a House have been known to be assigned as temporary Heads of House."

"So you expect Slytherin applicants next year then?"

She carefully kept a blank face as Sprout watched her watching McGonagall.

"I suspect not." McGonagall paused. "It would require a great deal of work."

Pansy allowed herself to smile slightly.

 

 

Pansy walked to the school gates as quickly as her 'interview shoes' would allow on the uneven ground, picking her way around particularly large holes yet to be filled in. The castle was suffering from collapsed walls, flooding in the lower levels, lingering curses, and general damage from various hexes, so it would probably be a while before the grounds would be attended to.

She considered picking up something alcoholic from Hogsmeade, but she had no idea what was planned for dinner, so she apparated straight to the doorstep of the two-bedroom house that she shared with the only other member of her year from Slytherin House who wasn't dead or abroad.

"Draco owled," Greg called out as she shut the front door behind her.

“Great.”

The stairs that led to the second floor and the attic room, that refused to heat up regardless of how many warming charms she attacked it with, were barely a step away, but the living room door was propped open to the right so there was some space to manoeuvre in the so-called entrance hall for once.

She hung her cloak up carefully on one of the metal wall hooks before toeing her shoes off, leaving them where they fell.

"He's in Singapore now."

"Wonderful. I'm going to take a shower."

"They eat a lot of fish there." Greg's voice followed her up the stairs.

 

 

Considering the amount of work that she assumed would be needed to make Hogwarts fit for students again, she had been surprised when the letter containing her teaching contract told her to arrive on the first of September via the Hogwarts Express. There was something about needing a 'responsible adult presence on the train' for 'reassurance', but she'd expected to be asked to arrive early to help with repairs.

Obviously her presence hadn't been required.

Still, thinking about being unwelcome whilst about to enter the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast was probably a bad idea, so she took a deep breath and dismissed the thought.

There were only two seats left at the staff table and presumably the one next to the Headmistress was for her Deputy, who was no doubt checking the first years were presentable. She made sure that she walked to the front of the Hall at her usual pace, then sat down in the chair at the very end of the table with her ankles neatly crossed. Presumably this was where the new teachers sat. She refused to think that being a Head of House ought to be taken into consideration.

On her right her dinner companion leaned forward, trying to get her attention, but Pansy pretended not to notice. It was a good thing there wasn't any food on the plates in front of them or Trelawney would have dragged her many bangles and lacy sleeves through it in a most uncouth manner.

There were, however, drinks. Pansy picked up her goblet and sipped. She had always wondered if the goblets on the staff table were filled with something stronger than pumpkin juice, but apparently not.

"I thought you wanted to get involved in political reform?" said a smooth male voice on the other side of Trelawney. Pansy glanced sideways, only to see red hair. She knew she shouldn't be surprised at the sight of a Weasley, since there were so many in the world, but at least this wasn't one who'd been at school with her. She'd have liked to say he wasn't familiar at all, but thanks to the Daily Prophet she could put names to the faces of the entire clan and this one was –

"It's only for a year or so, Bill, until the Headmistress gets things back to normal."

\- talking to Granger. Hermione 'Hand Waving' Granger.

She'd been informed that all of the 'War Heroes' had passed their NEWTS over the summer and weren't coming back for another seventh year. Perhaps she ought to have checked the staff list as well.

"I did consider Transfigurations, but Muggle Studies is more important, and had fewer applicants," Granger continued.

"How many applied for Transfigurations?"

"Two." They both looked down the table at her and Pansy debated whether ignoring them or smiling would be more irritating, but by the time she'd reached a decision they'd already turned away.

At that point Professor Sprout sailed into the Hall at the front of a crowd of nervous first years. Pansy lowered her goblet and maintained an air of politeness whilst the Sorting Hat introduced itself. She ignored the singing, then played her part for the rest of the pleasantries, clapping politely, noting which students were Sorted into Slytherin, and standing up when introduced as "the new Transfigurations teacher and Head of Slytherin House, Professor Parkinson".

Her old housemates looked her over. She thought about raising an eyebrow at them in the style of Snape, but the last time she'd tried that particular facial expression the mirror had laughed, so she settled for a slight nod of the head instead.

Then the food arrived and she discovered that, whilst the goblets were seemingly restricted to non-alcoholic beverages, there was definitely a touch of red wine in the sauce that accompanied the chicken.

"If I may have your attention," the Headmistress said, rising to her feet some time later. "Now that you have finished eating there are a few notices to be given. First, some sections of the castle are under construction and have been marked as dangerous. Please respect the boundary spells in place as they're for your own safety. Mr Filch asks me to remind you that no Weasley products are allowed on the premises." Her lips quirked upwards in a small smile. "For a full list of prohibited possessions and practices please visit his office. And the Forbidden Forest, as always, remains forbidden. New students will please follow their Prefects to their dormitories, although Slytherin House will remain seated please."

Her fellow teachers descended from the raised platform the staff table was positioned on and starting leaving the Hall through a small side entrance. Pansy stood, but made no move to follow.

"The Slytherins are not being detained for a mass detention," McGonagall commented, joining her at the edge of the platform.

Pansy thought about saying something witty in reply, but settled on, "Of course, Professor."

"We're still having some difficulties with repairs, as I'm sure you're aware, and, unfortunately, flooding in the lower levels is one of them. Making the student’s dormitories livable was our priority over the summer, but I'm afraid the dungeons are still uninhabitable."

Pansy felt herself relax a little. "And where are the Slytherins to be re-housed?"

"We considered the Room of Requirement, but it isn't in a co-operative mood at the moment."

She nodded as if she knew what the Headmistress was going on about.

"The Ministry has arranged alternative accommodation outside of the castle." Her lips twisted a little. "They've been most helpful during the rebuilding and yet... Well, Shacklebolt is shaping up to be an excellent Minister, but the Ministry is more than the man in charge."

"The man in charge of the many men in charge," Pansy said quietly.

McGonagall pursed her mouth. "Indeed. Anyway, Mr Harlow is the – and this would be him."

The man that came out of the side door in the opposite direction to the leaving faculty members was what Pansy had always envisioned as a typical Ministry bureaucrat. He was over seventy, if white hair and wrinkles were any indication of age, with a traditionally-cut robe, and neatly combed hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He came over and made a small bow to the pair of them.

"This is Felix Harlow, the Ministry representative in charge of overseeing all Ministry employees engaged in the rebuilding effort at Hogwarts," the Headmistress said formally. "Mr Harlow, this is Professor Parkinson, Head of Slytherin House. I've just been informing her that the Ministry has made alternative arrangements of living quarters for the students in her care."

"A pleasure, Professor Parkinson," he said, smiling down at her. "The Ministry has designed a portkey keyed to myself so that anyone within a set radius will be transported to our destination, including their belongings. It is our hope that you and your students will travel with me from the living quarters provided to Hogwarts before breakfast at the start of each school day and return at the end of the evening meal. I trust that everything will be to your satisfaction."

"Some students like to use the library after the evening meal," Pansy pointed out.

"Of course. This is only a temporary measure, Professor. I'm sure your students will be back in Hogwarts before such diligent studying becomes necessary."

"Of course."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," said the Headmistress. "Let me know if you have any problems, Professor Parkinson. Mr Harlow." She inclined her head at the Ministry official and left the Hall.

Pansy excused herself then raised her voice to address her students for the first time.

"As the Headmistress has said, I'm Professor Parkinson, your Head of House." Over a hundred eyes glued themselves to her, which did nothing for her confidence. "Unfortunately the lower levels are still flooded after the events of last May, which means the dormitories are uninhabitable."

The first years at the foot of the table looked confused and a little worried. Pansy found herself addressing them more than the rest of the House, feeling secure in the knowledge that to them at least she would be seen as a teacher and not as a former classmate.

"The Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeon. However, the Ministry has stepped in and provided us with somewhere outside Hogwarts to stay whilst the repairs are being finished. We will be using a specialized portkey to and from Hogwarts, arriving for the start of breakfast and leaving at the end of dinner."

There were a few groans from people she knew from experience weren't early risers.

"It goes without saying that I expect everyone to be on their best behavior," she continued, trying to think what McGonagall would say. "Please gather in the entrance hall and Prefects, keep an eye out for the first years." She turned to Mr Harlow, lowering her voice. "The entrance hall will be a sufficient place for us to use the portkey, correct?"

"That will be fine," he assured her.

They moved with the flow of students out of the Great Hall and Mr Harlow proceeded to explain the process of using a portkey. The older students looked bored, but the first through third years listened carefully. Two first years listened especially hard, perhaps betraying a lack of familiarity with magic, and Pansy made a note to keep an eye on them.

It was a little discerning using a portkey without being in physical contact with it and Pansy had to stop herself reaching out for the small book that Harlow was holding firmly, but the ‘landing’ was the same and most of the students stumbled, or at least wobbled.

She looked around with as much curiosity as her students when they arrived in their temporary living quarters. In all honesty it wasn't so different to the dungeons at Hogwarts, with old stonework and no windows.

The room they had portkeyed into was large and square, with various seating arrangements as would be found in a common room, and a small fireplace on each wall. Two doors at either side presumably led off to dormitories and bathrooms for male and female students. Harlow confirmed her suspicions then pointed out a third door next to the one leading to the female quarters as leading to a living area for her. Once assured that their belongings were already in place the students lost no time in rushing off to explore, the older ones thankfully at a more sedentary pace.

"And the way into the main building?" Pansy asked.

"Oh, we want the students to feel as safe here as they would at Hogwarts, Professor Parkinson. This is meant to be more of an extension of the castle than a hotel, so this area has been...cut off." He was still smiling. "No fear, I'll be here every day at the correct time for your transportation. If that's everything for tonight, shall I leave you to get settled in?"

Pansy tried to think of anything that might be important before tomorrow morning, but drew a blank. Harlow appeared to be waiting, so she asked something obvious to be polite.

"Am I allowed to inquire where we are?"

"In the North Sea, so not so far from Hogwarts actually. Too far away and it would have been harder to make our portkey function so reliably."

"No where near Azkaban, I hope," she said, trying to match his teasing tone, and for the first time his smile faltered.


	2. Cold Water and Connections

"I am here to see Minister Quirke, who I am told is in charge of Minister Rycroft who is, according to official correspondence between him and the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in charge of Mr Harlow," Pansy said heatedly.

"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary to Minister Quirke asked.

"No I do not have an appointment. It is seven-thirty in the morning, my first class is due to start in an hour and a half, I have students living in Azkaban and I am here to see the Minister."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to make an appointment."

Pansy considered turning the woman into a flobberworm.

"Fine. I'll be here _tomorrow morning_ , at the same time."

 

It was a Wednesday morning and Pansy was cold. That was what happened when there was no hot water, because Azkaban was a prison and what use was hot water in a prison?

The students seemed to treat the whole thing like an adventure and if they weren't all fully awake they had at least all been present in the common room section of their new living quarters by 7.15am. Pansy was sure the novelty would wear off quickly. It had worn off for her the minute she realised that the shower in her private bathroom didn't have an alterable temperature setting.

For now she poured herself a large cup of coffee and tried not to think about what would happen to the novelty factor if they found out that they were currently living in Azbakan. Some of them were living in the same building as family members they'd been happy to get away from, for Merlin's sake.

But she wasn't thinking about that. She was spreading jam on a piece of toast.

Next to her Trelawney mumbled something about strawberry jam being inauspicious, or some such nonsense, before an owl delivery bounced off the woman's glasses.

Pansy snatched at the letter, which narrowly missed falling in her coffee, and glared at the scrawled address: _Professor Pansy Parkinson, United Kingdom_. Then she glared at the message.

_They're saying you've sent yourself to Azkaban. What's going on?_

_Please write to me._

_Draco_

Pansy caressed the parchment with the tip of her wand and set it alight, letting it fall into her mug before the flames reached her fingers.

 

Pansy hadn't been lying when she'd said she had been an excellent tutor, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that teaching an entire class would be the same. After receiving her contract she'd spent the rest of the summer going over her old notes, textbooks, and a few extra books she'd collected over the years trying to work out a plan of action.

If her first class on her first day wasn't amazing it wasn't a disaster either and her plan carried her though to lunch with only 23 house points deducted, but so far she'd only faced a first year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class and second year Gryffindor-Hufflepuff, none of whom tested her authority more than they would of any other new teacher.

She dreaded the seventh year classes. And fifth year Slytherin-Gryffindor.

She spent most of lunch in her new office at the back of the classroom. She was fairly certain that Heads of House had their own separate offices, linked to their living quarters if her memories of Snape's office were anything to go by, but now wasn't the time to complain. Now was the time to fit in and figure out how things worked.

Pansy wondered how many people outside of Slytherin would list 'patience' as a virtue of her House.

Professor McGonagall obviously hadn't had time to empty her old office at the back of the Transfigurations classroom. The desk was cleared and the bookcase behind it was empty, but another bookcase by the door had only one empty shelf and a few gaps. Pansy spotted the 'Guide to Advanced Transfiguration' from her NEWT studies as well as 'Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration' and a dictionary of classical runes.

A cabinet next to a small sink held boxes of parchment detailing past lesson plans, student reports, and test results as well as a large collection of matches, teapots, and buttons. On top was an empty cage lined with shredded paper that, on closer inspection, appeared to come from the Daily Prophet.

The first thing she did was look up her own test results and report.

The second was to clean out the empty cage.

Then she took out the box marked 'lesson plans', settled herself at her desk, and started to read.

 

"I understand that the thought of living in a prison must be distressing for you, Miss Parkinson, but surely living in a flooded dungeon would be worse. And, of course, there are no longer any dementors stationed at Azkaban."

Minister Quirke was another Mr Harlow, only fatter and with a twitchy mustache. He also had yet to offer her a seat, let alone a cup of tea, which was uncivilised as well as impolite. It made Pansy want to respond in kind.

"So you admit that placing _dementors_ there was a mistake."

"Everyone is entitled to a mistake."

"And the Ministry's is a history of placing the wrong groups in Azkaban."

"Are you implying that dementors are less than evil? That they, of all groups, do not deserve to be imprisoned? Or are you referring to the many Death Eaters that have recently been convicted?" Quirke raised an eyebrow in an expression that wouldn't have registered on the Snape Scale of Intimidation.

"Wasn't it reported in the Prophet this week that Sirius Black is being pardoned posthumously?" she retorted. Standing in front of his desk made her feel like a teenager being called to task, which was probably Quirke’s intention.

"During times of war decisions must be made and they must always be made with the balance being in favour of the safety and protection of the majority. Sirius Black was believed to be a Death Eater, there was no exonerating evidence and, quite honestly, whether or not he was actually guilty no longer matters since he can no longer be inflicted on the general public regardless."

"Are you telling me that a group of students - a group of _Hogwarts_ students - are a danger to the general public?" Pansy glared. "Are you calling a group of children 'evil'?"

"Children grow up."

"Perhaps we should place everyone who has been in Slytherin House in Azkaban then, if adults are the ones who are the threat." She straightened her back and folded her arms. "Yes, let's do that. Let's throw half the Ministry in prison."

"The public are concerned, which is only natural. The idea of isolating a cause of that concern was brought before a sub-council of the Wizengamot, who proposed the current situation. This was put to and signed by the acting Head of the Wizengamot. Democracy at work." Quirke leaned back languidly in his chair. "You are over-reacting, Miss Parkinson. Clearly you have an issue with trusting the Ministry."

"The Ministry that denied the Dark Lord had returned? The Ministry that endorsed Umbridge? The Ministry that was taken over by the Dark Lord's minions last year? _That_ Ministry?" She sneered. "I wonder why."

"This is a new Ministry, Miss Parkinson."

"It's the old Ministry suffering from a brief _scourgify_."

"I apologise if we are not yet up to your standards, but this is the situation as it currently stands. And I believe that _currently_ ," he smirked, "you are listed as living with Mr Goyle, are you not, _Miss_ Parkinson?"

Pansy leaned forward and planted both hands on his desk, palms down, in a very unladylike pose. "If the next words out of your mouth include 'scandal', 'den of sin,' or the equivalent I'm going to hex you."

"Good day, Miss Parkinson."

And that was the end of her second visit to the Ministry.

 

The rest of the day could be summed up by one hundred house points deducted. Indiscriminately.

 

She had the hour before dinner free, so at least two hours free if she missed the evening meal and wanted to be back in time for the portkey to Azakaban. Not that she was in a rush to return, especially when the impression she received from Quirke was that it wasn't going to be 'temporary' stay in the actual sense of the word.

When Greg owled asking how things were going she told him to start cooking.

Dinner was pasta with red sauce. It wasn't exactly up to House Elf standards, but it tasted okay. There was a small bowl of grated cheese in the middle of the table and a cheap bottle of wine.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

"I got a job today." Greg smiled at her as she sat down. "It's lifting things. Magical things that can't be lifted with magic in case it damages them."

She smiled back at him.

"And I wrote to Draco."

"For someone who hates writing you do that an awful lot." She focussed on the food.

"I told him about you going to the Ministry."

"Fine."

"He says that was 'very Gryffindor' of you."

Pansy stabbed at her pasta and chewed.

 

 _"We do things through connections,"_ Pansy's mother had told her when she was seven. It was Yule and she hadn't wanted to go to the Avery's where pink was frowned upon and the adults talked over her head. _"Social networking,"_ her mother said, _"makes the world go round."_

The problem was that the members of Pansy's social network had recently become rather limited in what they could achieve. The Pureblood class that she had been raised within was being shunned, or at least _publicly_ shunned. Unfortunately, whilst the older generation would understand the distinction they would be reluctant to ally themselves with someone of her untried age. People her own age would be useless. Most of them had little power and many had left the country.

At the end of May, Theo had invited her to his family's summer home in Spain. She'd declined and hadn't been surprised when he failed to return for the NEWTs. Others used 'seeing the world before settling down' as an excuse. In truth there was nothing left for them at home, since no one wanted to be associated with anyone that might have in any way been linked to the Death Eater organisation.

To Pansy's disgust, having been a member of Slytherin House was enough to be 'linked'. It had been difficult enough finding a job and now she needed to find an ally with the ability to put pressure on the Ministry.

In the absence of an ally, she'd settle for a colleague, which is how she came to be making a formal complaint to the Headmistress.

"No, I _wasn't_ aware that a quarter of my students were currently living in Azkaban." McGonagall rubbed at the purple smudges under her eyes before adjusting her glasses. "Is safety a problem? Is the area assigned to the students accessible anyone from the prison or vice versa?"

"It's not accessible to _anyone_ unless they're Mr Harlow and His Wonderful Portkey." Pansy tried to make it sound more like a valid complaint than senseless mithering. "If there was an accident I would be unable to seek medical help or take a student to a medical facility. There is no way to leave in an emergency and no means by which to send a message."

"I can ask Mr Harlow to find somewhere else for the students to stay, but the lower levels are still not an option."

"Even if we could spread them around Hogsmeade, perhaps some in the Three Broomsticks, that would be better."

"And cause more work and hassle." She sighed. "Do the students know that they're living in Azkaban?"

"Not at the moment."

"Let's keep it that way, and I'll see what I can do."

Pansy smiled gratefully at the older witch, then hurried off to safeguard her classroom against the fifth year Slytherin-Gryffindors. Pulling half-transfigured hedgehogs out of the walls was not something she wished to repeat.

Neither was a conversation with Hermione Granger, but then she couldn't recall ever having had a _conversation_ with the woman, per se, so it probably didn't count as a repeat.

'Connections' was a plural word and Pansy had never been one to place all her bets on one player. As a close friend of the Boy Who Lived, Granger was bound to wield some clout at a political level and the Weasley Professor had even mentioned that she had an interest in politics. Surely someone who had made such a fuss about the rights of House Elves would align themselves against students being sent to Azkaban, even if the person asking for the aligning was a Slytherin.

Pansy had never been near the Muggle Studies classroom before, but she hadn't managed to catch Granger at lunch and living in the wizarding prison was not conductive to social time. She'd dismissed her fifth year class early and come to wait outside Granger's door.

The corridor was lined with a type of glossy parchment advertising books she'd never heard of, mounted newspaper clippings with pictures that didn't move even when she poked at them, and signs saying "no smoking", "pedestrian crossing," and "please queue here". The classroom door had a brass plague engraved with 'Here be Dragons'. Pansy was still trying to figure out how dragons fit into the muggle world when the students came pouring out.

Granger followed a few minutes later, tripping over a kind of cloth sausage in the doorway.

"What _is_ that?" Pansy asked.

"Draft excluder." Granger brushed off her robe then looked up. "Oh. You."

Pansy wasn't quite sure what the correct response to that was.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

"Here's a word: no." The bushy-haired woman turned her back and started walking off down the corridor.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say yet," Pansy called after her.

Granger paused and twisted her upper body to reply, not bothering to turn completely around and face her. "You could start with an apology."

"For what?"

"Oh, I don't know. For trying to offer Harry to Voldemort on a plate."

Pansy flinched at the name and Granger smiled viciously.

"I wasn't trying to get Potter killed."

"Why not? Malfoy tried to kill Professor Dumbledore."

"They were threatening to kill his parents." Pansy yanked up the left sleeve of her robe and the blouse sleeve beneath it. "Look, no dark mark! Does that count for anything?"

"Can you honestly say you've never cast an Unforgivable?"

"It was a war, Granger, everyone was casting Unforgivables! If you were in the Dark Arts class last year you either cast them or had them cast on you." She glared. "Not that you'd know about that. You left before seventh year even started. What gives you the right to criticise those of us who left in May?"

"This isn't about leaving, it's about - "

"I didn't come here to talk about leaving _or_ Potter," Pansy spat, interrupting her rudely. "Do you know where the students in my House are living right now? Azkaban. And don't you dare say that they deserve it! There are first years sleeping in a prison, Granger. I know Slytherins aren't House Elves that you can SPEW for, but at least two of them are muggleborn, if that counts for anything."

"Since when does Slytherin accept anything other than Purebloods?"

"Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode. Remember them? Our year, Slytherin House, _halfbloods_. Millie joined the duelling club in second year because she didn't know enough magic to defend herself. Why did you think she launched herself at you like some muggle?"

"Fine." Granger folded her arms. "What do you want?"

Pansy took a deep breath in through her nose. "The Ministry is forcing a quarter of the school's students to live in Azkaban -"

"Does the Headmistress know?"

"Yes."

"Then I fail to see why you're talking to me," Granger said flatly and left, although it looked like she did so reluctantly.

Pansy stared after her for a moment in irritation then headed to the bathroom to see her third 'connection', specifically the generally avoided girls' bathroom on the second floor.

"If you've come to throw things through me I shall scream," a plump transparent figure declared from her perch on top of a toilet cistern as Pansy swung open the door.

"At least that would be an improvement on crying," Pansy retorted.

Myrtle's bottom lip wobbled. "Don't be mean."

"I have no intentions of being mean." Pansy smiled widely. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help in the grand Hogwarts rebuilding effort. Various people, including people from the Ministry, have been trying to solve the flooding problem in the lower levels, but it's been a rather pathetic attempt. As the expert on the school's plumping system and water ways, I thought that you might be up to the task."

"So you're only here because you _want_ something. I'm not _stupid_ you know. You're not going to trick me into doing your job for you."

"I wouldn't dream of trying to outsmart a Ravenclaw." Pansy leaned back facing the toilet cubicles, the cold porcelain of a sink digging into her spine. "It's not my job to sort out the flooding, but I do have a vested interest, and I would hate for you to do me a favour and not receive anything in return." She paused for a moment. "How about I find that Hornby girl you're always going on about and send her hate mail? Or I could speak to the Bloody Barron, as Head of the House he's affiliated with, about letting you attend his Death Day celebrations."

Myrtle waved her hand back and forth through a toilet chain looking unimpressed.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. She was tired of being polite to people in case they thought she was a raving Potter-killing lunatic. "If you _don't_ help me I'll place a ward on the Prefect's Bathroom against ghostly voyeurs."

"Okay, okay." Myrtle pulled a face as she floated down to eye-level. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."


	3. Punishment and a Prediction

Pansy had never subscribed to the Daily Prophet. At home she had always browsed through the paper when Father and Mother had finished with it. At school the outside world had seemed unimportant and Draco had always let her know if there was anything relevant being reported. (Draco was an avid Daily Prophet reader. She'd often wondered if he'd had a bit of a crush on Rita Skeeter, at least until the Potter article the woman had written for the Quibbler.)

This morning the entire student body seemed to be fighting over, or crowding around, copies of the paper. Pansy leaned over and borrowed Trelawney's to see what all the fuss was about.

If the Divinations Professor complained she planned to tell the witch that they didn't all have Inner Eyes to rely on, but, when she peered out from under her lashes, Trelawney seemed resigned to the theft.

Page one was something about Potter, Quidditch, and charity, page two was something about the Aurors, page three had an amusing photograph of Orsino Thruston from the Weird Sisters and speculations on where he was hiding his latest tattoo.

Page eight forced her to put down her coffee and give the paper her undivided attention.

_**Eliminating Evil: Slytherins Sorted** _

_**Ministry Praised For Radical Policy** _

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has always Sorted its students into four Houses: Gryffindor (home of Harry Potter), Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin - home to such characters as Bellatrix Lestrange, the Carrows, Antonin Dolohov and, it's rumoured, Voldemort himself. In an effort to protest the public from another generation of evil the Acting Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot has passed a Ministry proposed motion to send all Slytherin students to Azkaban._

_"The dungeons where these students normally live are flooded anyway and they are only imprisoned outside of school hours, so they're still receiving an education. That's far better than the fate of children deemed 'undesirable' last year by the parents of these Slytherin students," explained one Ministry employee._

_"Most of their families and friends are in Azkaban anyway," added another (for a full list of imprisoned Death Eaters see page 13)._

The rest of the school were eyeing the Slytherin table in a way that did not bode well. The Slytherins, to their credit, were eyeing back, but they didn't look happy about it. The teachers were pretending not to notice, which in Pansy's experience was all they ever _had_ done when faced with trouble caused by the press.

Pansy smoothed out the creases she’d made in the Prophet as she thought for a moment, then stood up. A few people looked at her, but the noise level in the Hall didn't decrease. She swallowed compulsively, then pointed her wand at her throat and whispered _sonorous_.

"If I can have your attention," she began, and suddenly she had more attention that she'd ever wanted outside of a high class social event consisting of the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelors. She deliberately ignored the rest of the staff table, although she imagined Granger would be frowning enough to give herself lines.

"No doubt you've all discovered the article on page eight of the Prophet." Being blunt was not Pansy's strong point, but she wanted to make things clear. "Yes, the Slytherin students and I are currently living in a subsection of Azkaban. The Ministry has said that this is only until the flooding problem is solved. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers, which is a lesson you ought to have learnt by now with all the rubbish that's been printed over the past few years."

She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she cancelled the spell on her voice, sat down, and tried not to think of all the letters and Howlers she would shortly be receiving from concerned, angry, and terrified parents. Or of all the parents who were unable to send letters.

"Trouble will be upon us soon, my dear," Trelawney said as she ran a finger around the rim of her empty tea cup.

Pansy could have sworn she heard Granger or McGonagall snort. Maybe both.

 

Three days later they were two students short when Pansy did a head count before the morning portkey trip.

She would have sent others to go looking for whoever had overslept, but she didn't want to lose anyone else. One of the first year girls had been throwing up half the night and Pansy didn't have the experience or the supplies to do anything more than hold her hair out of the way. She needed to get the girl to Madam Pomfrey, she needed to accompany the rest of the House to breakfast, and she needed to prepare for her first class, so when Harlow said he'd sort it out she nodded.

Harlow's idea of 'sorting it out' seemed to be similar to the Daily Prophet's idea of sorting the Slytherins.

When they arrived back at Azkaban in the evening there were two fifth year boys on one of the sofas. Pansy placed her hand on Harlow's forearm to prevent the man from leaving before she figured out what had happened, and so she could hex him after she had.

"I was under the impression that you were going to return my missing students to the school," she said.

"He took our wands!" Graham Pritchard folded his arms and glared. "And we haven't had anything to eat."

"When I arrived to escort these students they were using the blasting curse on one of the walls," Harlow said dryly. "I repaired the damage, confiscated their wands, and left them confined here, which I deemed to be an appropriate punishment for their transgression."

"He _arrived_ at four o'clock in the bloody afternoon," said the other boy – Malcom.

"When we oversleep at Hogwarts, we miss breakfast, but we don't miss classes," said Graham. "It’s not fair! We've missed loads and it's our owl year and he didn't even give us anything to eat!"

Pansy released Harlow's arm before she gave into the temptation to dig in her nails. Older people tended to bruise easily and she didn’t want him to have any supposed evidence for any stories the man might concoct to harm her reputation and social standing if this incident, or others, made him feel less than friendly towards her.

"It isn't your place to punish my students. You will not do it again." She held out her hand. "Their wands, please."

"I don't believe wands are required within this setting, Professor."

Pansy stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"As I recall, students are forbidden from using magic outside of class at any rate and this is certainly outside of the classroom. They have shown an irresponsible and immature use of magic and have lost the privilege of that use."

"But – but we need them! To study!" Graham looked half outraged and half on the verge of tears.

He looked at them impassively from under thin white eyebrows. "You don't require a wand to study theory, and theory should enable you to pass any exam if you study thoroughly."

"Are you related to Umbridge?" Harlow blinked and Pansy shook her head. “Never mind. Just give me the wands please. They can remain confiscated until we reach a conclusion on this, but they can be confiscated by me."

"No." Harlow gently squeezed the portkey that he was still holding, creasing the book's cover. "In fact, I intend to speak to Minister Rycroft about the possibility of all wands being confiscated and left at Hogwarts. And I'm sure he'll agree."

Pansy blinked again. Harlow took advantage of her momentary stupefaction to portkey away and Graham’s stomach growled.

 

To Pansy Parkinson there was no such thing as being too careful.

The next day she missed lunch and flooed from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley to invest in a number of spare wands. They weren’t particularly difficult to get hold of as long as you weren’t looking for quality. Whilst the easiest way to get a reliable spare wand was to duel someone, changing the alliance of their wand to you, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement didn’t seem to mind that some people would rather buy an impersonal spare wand. They might not be capable of performing the most complicated and powerful spells, but they were useful.

Pansy choose seven, consisting of various woods and cores, and hid them around her private living quarters at Azkaban, including in the bathroom, with semi-permanent sticking charms to keep them in place, and covered them with disillusionment charms, wards against Summoning, and a few choice hexes.

Figuring out a contingency plan for being trapped was more difficult.

None of the fires were connected to the floo, there were no windows through which to send an owl, and no House Elves came when she called. (That didn't necessarily mean there weren't any, but it was a sure sign that if there were they certainly weren't bound to obey _her_. She could try and catch one, but there were stories about wizarding folk who tried that. None of them had pleasant endings.)

She remembered hearing a rumour about Dumbledore's group, the Order, being able to send messages in the form of a corporal Patronus. For a moment she wished she was capable of that, but it probably wouldn't have worked over the long distance required anyway.

The most straightforward thing to do was to make sure there were people on the outside who knew what was going on. McGonagall was the obvious first choice, but she hadn't managed to change their address yet - not for lack of trying - and Pansy doubted how much pull she had with the Ministry.

She owled Greg and told him that if he didn't hear from her for more than three days he was to contact as many of their friends and old allies as possible. She didn't think they'd be of any help, but writing the message made her feel better.

 _Dear Pansy,_ he wrote back.

_I learnt how to make omelettes. I got my first pay cheque on Tuesday, which was good. Draco owled about what was in the papers. My cleaning spells must have got better because I got rid of the spider webs in that tricky ceiling bit in the kitchen._

_Hope you can visit again soon, Greg_

 

The weekend came and Harlow didn't.

Pansy was thankful that food appeared on the tables in the common room twice a day, because she wasn't sure that she'd be able to keep control of a herd of hungry teenagers. The first years looked at her like she had all the answers, but the older students looked at her like she was useless, and she wasn't sure which was worse.

When Harlow arrived on Monday morning the entire House was wide awake and waiting for him. The seventh years took charge, no less angry than anyone else but at least better at keeping it under control, and Pansy let them.

"I was unaware that school was compulsory at the weekend," was Harlow's response to their pointed questions.

"What about Quidditch?" Malcom Braddock folded his arms. Pansy couldn't remember who'd been on the team the last time they'd played. She had heard rumours that Malcom had wanted to try for Chaser last year, but last year no one had been very interested in games. "Look, we don't mind practising at lunch if we have to, but matches are normally at the weekends."

"And what about Hogsmeade weekends?" a third year piped up.

Harlow turned to Pansy and raised an eyebrow.

 _I'm on their side_ , she told him with her folded arms and McGonagall frown.

"Do you intend to make yourselves late?" he asked.

 

Professor Flitwick stopped beside Pansy's chair at lunch to point out that the Slytherin students were being...remarkably destructive in class recently. Weasley muttered something about "should be more defence, less dark arts" and "they're only fairies".

Pansy ate quickly and hurried back to her classroom. There was still a chair hopping around with a furry tail that she needed to catch and untransfigure.

She had it cornered when someone in the doorway said something that made the chair turn blue before falling rigidly to the floor.

"So now I need to reverse an appearence alteration _as well as_ reverse transfigure. Thank you," she snapped.

"There's no magic in Muggle Studies, Parkinson, so can you tell me why exactly your students are using my class as a duelling period?"

Pansy weaved her wand in the air until the chair was back to normal and returned it to its correct place in the room before turning to her unwelcome visitor.

"Perhaps they're bored."

Granger still had her wand out and was rolling it between her fingers. "Perhaps if they paid attention they wouldn't _be_ bored."

"Perhaps if they weren't slowly but surely having every wizarding right taken away from them they wouldn't be so full of impotent anger that they would feel the need to take it out on mindless Hufflepuffs." Pansy deliberately kept her own wand in her hand as well, just in case.

"Ravenclaws."

"Does it matter?"

"Negative attitudes should be left at the classroom door."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Which I'm sure you did all the time."

"Tell them to behave."

"I think they're justified in their behaviour."

Granger blinked. "I swear, I don't understand you."

"That's obvious." Pansy decided there was no threat of violence, other than verbal, slid her wand back up her sleeve, and folded her arms. "Hermione Granger, the smartest witch in our year, and she doesn't understand something. Merlin, inform the press."

Granger leaned against the doorframe, trying to look relaxed, but she was still gripping her wand. "I don't understand a lot of things. I don't understand why you said what you did in May, for example. I don't understand how you can have said that and not meant for Harry to die."

"I pointed out that Potter was there. A statement of fact." Pansy sat down on the nearest desk. "Did it ever occur to you that we could have used Potter to get the Dark Lord away from Hogwarts? Children died in May; underaged kids that couldn't get out in time or refused to leave. If it was Potter the Dark Lord wanted, then Potter could have led him somewhere else. It's called strategy."

Granger sighed. "We _had_ to be at Hogwarts. We didn't want to put the school in danger, but there was something we had to find, something important, and it was at Hogwarts."

"I'm supposed to understand that, but you don't understand me?" Pansy snorted. "I found out later that the only adult who would have understood what I meant had just jumped out of a window because he was as good a Headmaster as he was a Head of House. That about sums up my seventh year."

Granger's head snapped up. "Professor Snape was a brave man!"

"Dumbledore's man. I know, I read the papers. Still, he was so busy serving two Masters that he didn't have any time left for his students. Brave man, bad teacher." She smirked. "I thought you and your little friends had been saying the latter for years?"

"Well, yes." Granger bit her lip. "So, you didn't want Harry dead then?"

"No, I did not want Potter dead." Pansy tried not to laugh.

"Right. Okay then."

A bell signalled the end of lunch and Granger left before the students started arriving, wand still out.


	4. Fireworks and Dungbombs

" _I_ am a genius!"

Myrtle threw her head back and laughed as Pansy blushed indignantly. Her skirt and robes covered everything worth covering, but her knickers were still around her ankles and no one had walked in on her sitting on the toilet since she was five.

"Go away!"

The ghost floated backwards out of the toilet cubicle still laughing. Pansy sorted herself out then shoved the cubicle door open.

"Privacy! Learn some!"

Myrtle smirked. "Well, if you don't want to know what your little flooding problem is I can always just -"

"You're an aggravating little voyeur -"

"I wasn't looking at _you_. I like boys!"

"- and if you don't tell me what you've found out _this instant_ -"

"I was getting to it!"

"- then I will personally see to it that you never spy on anyone ever again!"

Myrtle lifted her hands up defensively. "There's a hole in the wall in a corridor running under the lake. I can show you where. If you fill that it, then your problem is solved."

"Fine. Thank you." Pansy walked over to the sinks to wash her hands.

"So," Myrtle said from behind her, "when you write to Olive Hornby for me, tell her she's fat."

 

On Thursday Harlow didn't show up.

On Friday he apologised, telling them that there were 'portkey issues'.

The following week he failed to turn up for two days in a row. When they finally arrived at Hogwarts Pansy paid another visit to the Headmistress. It wasn't a productive meeting. Both of them were tired and stressed, and neither of them had an immediate solution. Pansy left having eaten three biscuits and not feeling any better about the situation.

They best plan of action that they'd come up with was to work on the less than immediate solution, so five House Elves (in the spirit of being helpful), Bill Weasley (in the spirit of being ordered by McGonagall to be helpful), and some gillyweed borrowed from the potions supplies currently kept in the Hospital Wing accompanied her to the dungeons whilst the students were eating tea. Finding the leak was more difficult than the actual repair, even with ghostly help, and if Pansy had thought the dungeons were cold before it was nothing to how cold they were when flooded.

"We should have asked Hermione what Muggles wear to do this kind of thing," Weasley said through chattering teeth when they surfaced near the top of a staircase and the gillyweed had worn off.

"Muggles swim around in flooded dungeons for fun? I knew they were crazy." Pansy searched for her wand with numb fingers, finally pulling it out of the holster strapped to her arm and performing drying spells on both of them until they stopped shivering.

Weasley grinned. "Step two: dry out the dungeons."

"That's step three. Step two involves alcohol."

"Not in a school," he laughed. "Hot tea maybe."

"Are you joking?" Pansy started up the last of the stairs and Weasley fell into step beside her. "The Headmistress is a Scots woman. Two galleons says she has more than a drop of whiskey in her 'tea' on a Friday evening."

"I might have a bottle of something upstairs."

Pansy looked up at him, debating the ethics of a small glass of alcohol for medicinal purposes. "Are you offering?"

 

_Dear Greg,_

_We dried out the dungeons and now we're just waiting for new furniture, carpets etc. They've started confiscating the student's wands before we leave Hogwarts in the evening now, so the sooner we make the old dormitories liveable again, the better. (And no, I'm not going to quit my job, even if Draco thinks I should.)_

_I had a drink with a Weasley. I blame the fact that it was alcoholic._

_Well done on mastering cottage pie!_

_Love Pansy_

 

"Look, we're not leaving anyone out because this is for all of us, but if you want to say something just, um, raise your hand, okay? There's too many of us to talk all at once."

Everyone in Slytherin House was in the common room. The ones lounging on the floor were mostly younger students, a few seventh years were standing around looking important, and Graham was perched on a table. As Pansy watched, two second years pulled themselves up to join him and sat there swinging their legs.

"Alright, so it's been three days and we're all agreed that the Ministry guy isn't coming." Julia Harper, a seventh year with long hair tied back in a messy ponytail and bitten nails, seemed to be chairing the plotting session. She had a cousin with the same surname in the same House and year who'd been arrested over Christmas.

A girl in the sixth year raised her hand. "Is it worth waiting to see if anyone else is coming to get us out of here? Someone who isn't from the Ministry?"

"The only other people who know we're here and could possibly do anything about it are the professors," the boy sitting next to her on the sofa said, "and I don't think they can, or will, do anything about it, because otherwise wouldn't they have done something already?"

Julia pursed her lips and he raised his hand belatedly with a muttered apology.

"If someone's coming we can still come up with a plan while we're waiting," Malcom said with his hand in the air.

"Fair enough." Julia smiled. "In the interests of democracy, raise your hand if you feel coming up with a plan of action is something you want to do, regardless of whether or not you think someone is coming."

The spell that Pansy was using to make part of her door act like a one-way window wavered and she renewed it with the spare wand she'd recovered from its hiding place in the toilet cistern. Her wand had been confiscated along with the wands of the students by three Ministry officials and a bored Auror every time they'd left Hogwarts for the past month.

She was curious enough to see what plan her students could come up with without a wand between them to suffer kneeling on the stone floor a bit longer.

"Unanimous," one of the seventh year boys, Zaine, drawled. "What a surprise in a House famed for its cunning plots."

A few people snickered.

"And, to further state the obvious, we're all agreed that this plot is to get out?" said Malcom.

"And preferably not to get thrown back in," Graham muttered.

" _I_ think we ought to pool our resources," said Zaine.

Julia nodded. "Maeve, you've got neat handwriting." A blond-haired girl looked up. "Everyone queue up and let Maeve know what you've got that might be useful and she can make a list."

Maeve pulled her chair closer to one of the tables and someone passed her a quill, ink, and parchment. Around twenty minutes later she read out: "Five boxes of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start No-Heat Fireworks, three Basic Blaze Boxes - that's the basic selection of Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs - a load of Extendable Ears and fake wands, twelve bags of dungbombs, and one flask of Babbling Beverage."

The quiet was broken by one of the sixth years saying, "Not very conductive to an escape."

"There's only ever been three escapes from Azkaban," Malcom pointed out.

The second years sat on the table looked worried. Graham slung an arm around the shoulders of the nearest one. "Well, there's going to be at least one more."

When the common room had filled with noise and then gone silent without anyone asking her to join them, Pansy had known that her help wasn't wanted. Perhaps it was because they weren't used to relying on their Head of House, perhaps they didn't want a teacher interfering, or perhaps they just didn't trust _her_.

She thought about the six wands still hidden around her private living area. She thought about Harlow and Quirke and newspaper articles, and waited for the right moment to join the uprising.

"I wonder if the food's left by House Elves," said Maeve quietly. "Do you think we could catch one?"

"Well, _I_ wonder," Pansy said loudly as she swung open her door, "exactly what you were thinking when you started plotting without first checking for listening charms."

It was quiet for a moment before Zaine said, "We don't have wands, remember?"

" _You_ don't have wands," Pansy said, grinning slyly. " _I_ have seven. Would you like to add those to your list?"

Most of the lower years smiled up at her. Malcom, Zaine, Julia, and a lot of the older students smirked.

Graham laughed and raised his hand. "I'll have one!"

"But you can't use it to catch a House Elf, even if there are any," she said, perching on the armrest of the sofa Julia was standing by. "They aren't bound to any of us, so they're quite capable of evading capture by harmful means."

"If someone else comes, could we catch them do you think?" Maeve chewed on the end of her quill thoughtfully.

"What we have to do is plan for every eventuality," Pansy told her. "Yes, I think it's likely that someone will come to check on us sooner or later, and I think Harlow will be with them. They'll probably portkey into the common room, but you have to consider the possibility of them arriving anywhere, even the girl's dormitories. Now, since we have wands we can set an alarm. Rather like the alarm I set a while back to alert me if any listening charms were activated actually."

She moved her wand in the appropriate pattern to set an alarm on the common area as an example.

A Houseful of eyes watched.

 

Harlow, being regimented, arrived in the same place as he usually did in the common room. A muscular man wearing Auror's robes with 'Robards' stitched onto the left breast appeared next to him with his wand out. Three more figures stood behind. Pansy noticed that one of them was a woman wearing an eyepatch. Then war broke out.

Fireworks zipped through the three doors leading into the common room. One, carefully aimed, hit the portkey out of Harlow’s hand.

The seven people with wands, including Pansy, leaned out from behind sofas, armchairs, and a table turned onto its side to cast hexes, jinxes, and curses. Julia cast a rather good Jelly-Legs at Harlow at the same time as Malcom let a knee-reversing hex fly, and the Ministry representative crashed to the ground, his robes hitching up to reveal knobbly ankles.

The man who had been standing next to him dropped to the floor and rolled for cover almost instantly. Three of the other students with wands began firing spells at him, almost competing to see who could hit the Auror first.

The other three intruders had scattered.

A head of bushy-hair poked up over the back of an armchair to cast _petrificus totalus_ three times in quick succession and a frozen Zaine toppled out from behind the door leading to the girls' dormitories. A firework caught the ends of Granger's hair alight and she ducked back down cursing.

Pansy knew then that the people they were fighting weren't here to put them in Azkaban permanently and were _probably_ here to rescue them. The Hermione Granger that campaigned against Umbridge and bad Ministry politics in fifth year wouldn't have dragged herself all the way to Azkaban in support of poor policies now.

Later Pansy would thank Granger for coming to the rescue. Later she would be apologetic for the welcome the rescuers received. Later she would be the very picture of politeness, but for now she lobbed a dungbomb at Felix Harlow and joined her fellow Slytherins as they revelled in a plot successfully executed.

 

Pansy stared at the small book lying near Harlow’s disarranged hair before bending down to pick it up and slide it into a pocket in her robes. The unconscious man she ignored. After all, no one ever died from fainting.

Most of the spells cast on people had been reversed, but Julia was going around making sure that there weren’t any minor ones still in effect that'd been missed. Pansy nodded at her and made her way to the biggest cluster of chairs and sofas where most of the students with wands had sheltered during the skirmish.

Zaine flopped down onto a sofa next to Malcom, Graham, and a second year boy, all of them looking rather pleased with themselves. The witch with the eyepatch was sat on another sofa at a right angle to the one occupied by the boys with a bemused look on her face, which was probably normal for someone who had recently been knocked out by a Weasley firework. Now that Pansy had the time to look she noted that the woman also wore Auror robes.

Granger was sitting next to her looking tired and still a little angry, with her hair in more of a mess than Pansy had ever seen it.

“Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office.” The man in Auror robes with ‘Robards’ stitched on them strode over to Pansy and offered her his hand. She glanced over at the robes of the unknown witch on the sofa to identify her as ‘Callaghan’ before shaking Robards’ hand.

“Pansy Parkinson, Head of Slytherin House and Transfigurations Professor at Hogwarts.”

“We know.” The other man who had arrived with Granger, Harlow, and the two Aurors joined them and offered his own hand. “Ogden, from the Ministry. We apologise for the situation. The current Acting Chief of the Wizengamot is rather unsuited to the position and, you’ll be pleased to hear, will shortly be replaced as Madam Griselda Marchbanks takes up the role of Chief permanently.”

“Twenty years younger and no where near as senile,” said Granger. “It’s suspected that the Acting Chief has been signing a few things without reading them thoroughly.”

Ogden glared down at her than appeared to realise what he was doing and carefully rearranged his face in a neutral expression.

It seemed to Pansy that the Ministry were going to try and backtrack on the policy of packing Slytherin House off to Azkaban as neatly as they had changed tack regarding other policies over the years, up to and including their adamant statements that no, You-Know-Who could not _possibly_ be back, and using the progressive move of assigning a woman the role of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot as a diversion.

Old Ministry, brief _scourgify_.

“Will there be a public apology?” Pansy asked Ogden.

“Well, possibly we could -”

“Yes,” said Granger, “and published in the Daily Prophet.”

“I would also like my students relocated from Azkaban immediately,” Pansy added.

Robards folded his arms across his rather broad chest. “Your colleague, Professor Granger, has already provided the Ministry with details of how this is going to work. We weren’t expecting to be assaulted when delivering the news, but since no dangerous spells were used I see no reason why we should deviate from her little plan.” He looked at least a little amused, and as the adult looking the least worst for wear and the only member of the invading party that hadn’t caught on fire at some point he probably had a right to be.

Ogden muttered something about cheap wands that couldn’t perform dangerous spells even in the hands of the darkest wizards, but Pansy chose to ignore him.

Instead she turned to Granger and smiled, her white teeth a stark contrast to the sooty streaks on her face from the use of fireworks in close quarters. “You went on a do-good-ing rampage in the Ministry, then?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Granger said warily.

“You ought to listen to my colleague,” Pansy said, looking at Robards and Ogden. “Rumour has it that even Rita Skeeter listens to her. Sometimes.” She blinked, then smirked as she realised Granger had chorused the last word along with her, albeit under her breath.

Julia wandered over to complete her check on the students with Zaine and the other boys on the nearby sofa before indicating Callaghan and asking Pansy if the witch was alright.

Callaghan rubbed at her eyepatch then sat up straighter. “I’m a bit dizzy, but fine ‘part from that. Thanks for askin’ though.”

“Are we finished then?” Graham got up followed by the second year boy that seemed to have attached himself to the fifth year. “’Cause I’m starving.”

 

The Ministry hastened the repair and refurbishment of Hogwarts' lower levels, so in the end the Slytherin students only spent a little over a week living in The Three Broomsticks and in spare bedrooms of accommodating Hogsmeade residents.

Pansy was on edge the whole time, hoping that her students had taken out their aggression enough during the brief battle at Azkaban to be models of perfect of behaviour. She celebrated their return to Hogwarts by sharing a drink with Bill and Granger in her shiny new office, which was attached to her shiny new living quarters that were far better decorated than Snape's had ever been.

"Looking forward to the Yule Ball?" Granger asked politely.

Pansy wasn’t sure if Granger was here as a testament to the kind-of alliance growing between the two youngest members of the teaching staff or to back-up her fellow Gryffindor during his sojourn into Slytherin territory, but the image of her drinking alcohol was curious enough that Pansy had decided to ignore the whole issue in favour of seeing how inebriated Gryffindor’s Golden Girl might get.

"Circe, no," Pansy said. "I have nothing to wear."

Bill leaned back against a bookcase that was empty except for a rather worn copy of 'Guide to Advanced Transfiguration' and a small book with a creased cover. "Do you think if we slip enough whiskey into Minerva's tea she'll do a jig?"

"She does love to dance," Granger pointed out. “Why else do you think we’re having a Yule Ball this year?” She sipped at her Firewhisky and smiled. "You should ask her."

"To do a jig?"

"To dance."

"Only if we can take photographs of him looking mortified to blackmail him with later," said Pansy.

"Hey!" he protested. "I'm a good dancer I'll have you know."

Pansy laughed and topped up his glass

"Erm, is there going to _be_ a later?" Granger said, sounding at least a little uncomfortable. "After this school year ends? I mean, how long are you both planning to teach here for?"

Bill shrugged. "I like it here. Besides, wizards aren't very welcome with the Gingotts Goblins at the moment with the damage you three caused." He grinned as Granger blushed a little. "They'll be quite happy with me working for them if I'll go back to Egypt, and so would I, only, well..." He shuffled his feet and grinned wider. "Fleur's expecting."

"Bill! That's brilliant!" Granger squealed, throwing her arms around him.

"Congratulations." Pansy rescued Granger's glass. "More Weasleys. Remind me to quit before they reach Hogwarts."

"You're going to stay then?" Granger asked, untangling a few strands of her hair from where they’d gotten stuck on Bill’s earring.

"Well, I'm not going to jump out of a window just yet." Pansy smiled. "But you're leaving, aren't you?"

"There's no need to look so happy about it."

"Happy? With you entering the political arena? At the thought of you rampaging through the Ministry and demanding justice for the underlings on a daily basis? Perish the thought."

"It wasn't _rampaging_ ," said Granger. "It was more...persuading with force."

Bill snorted and held his glass out to Pansy. "Top up please, and I'll drink to that." Pansy shared out the last of the whiskey and he raised his glass. "To persuading with force!"

"To improving things for future generations, including the soon-to-be youngest Weasley." Granger clinked her glass against Bill's and they both looked at Pansy.

Professor Pansy Parkinson lifted her glass to join theirs. 

"To Transfigurations! Changing the world one spell at a time." She swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and pulled a face. "That sounded soppy. I think I'm drunk."

Granger snorted.

 

Saturday was a Hogsmeade weekend. Every Slytherin in third year and above with a permission slip descended on the wizarding village. Most of the students of the same age in the other Houses joined them, along with Flitwick, Vector, and Bill, who were the designated chaperones. The Slytherins not in Hogsmeade took over the quidditch pitch and a few daring Ravenclaws followed to set up an impromptu game against them.

Pansy visited Greg.

They ate ham and mushroom omelettes with fresh salad and drank a rather nice white wine. She spilt a little on her dress laughing when he told her some of the jokes he'd heard at work.

Afterwards, they drank black coffee.

Greg leaned back in his chair to pick up a quill off the sideboard and started sharpening it.

"What are you doing?" Pansy asked lazily.

"Writing to Draco. I'm going to tell him you're not in Azkaban anymore."

"He probably already knows." She stretched out her legs with a sigh. "Actually, you should tell him that it's mostly down to Granger that I'm not in Azkaban anymore. And that she snorts. And I was speaking to McGonagall the other day and - "

She stopped, put her coffee down, and pushed it to one side before reaching for the quill. "On second thought, I'll tell him myself."


End file.
